


Behind This Mask is a Desperate Heart

by InspireVamp



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Boys In Love, Doctors, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hospitals, Idiots in Love, Illnesses, Logince - Freeform, M/M, Major Illness, Medical Procedures, Neurology & Neuroscience, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Sanders Sides - Freeform, Sickness, Snow, Swearing, True Love, eventual angst, hospital au, moxiety - Freeform, tragic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2019-10-02 12:26:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17264201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InspireVamp/pseuds/InspireVamp
Summary: “How long have you been experiencing tremors?” the nurse passed Virgil a sympathetic glance - the poor thing.“A couple weeks now,” Virgil took a shaky breath, fingernails unknowingly digging into his sweaty palms, “that’s bad isn’t it?”AU Summary: A fall. A single fall. It may seem like nothing until it’s all consuming. What happens when the doctors struggle to diagnosis the disease responsible for Virgil’s rapid deterioration?





	1. That Wasn't Too Bad

**Author's Note:**

> Characters in this chapter: Virgil, Patton, Logan, Sympathetic!Deceit, and eventually Roman.
> 
> Pairings: Eventual Romantic Moxiety & Logince. That’s not to say other ships won’t arise ;)
> 
> Warnings: descriptions of medical procedures. This chapter examines how a blood sample is acquired.
> 
> This serves as a short first and opening chapter for this AU.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil meets Logan, Deceit (Dee), and Patton. They want to help figure out what is causing his troubling symptoms.

     Virgil cautiously eyed the swift swipe of pale green drapes separating his hospital bed from the next and listened to passing, tired foot falls and erupting chatter. He detected the shuffling of loose leaf papers; the pitter patter of mechanical rain; and bland, never-ending ringtones.

    “Virgil Poole?”

    Virgil tore his gaze from the poorly-maintained, flickering, overhead lights, “Oh- uh, yeah?”

    “Sorry to have kept you waiting,” the nurse, swathed in pastel blue scrubs with black frames resting on the bridge of his nose, plunked Virgil’s charts onto the metallic bedside table before pulling up a chair.

    Absentmindedly, Virgil’s fingers twitched and tugged at the loose, thin threads on his ebony jacket as the nurse cordially rehashed what Virgil had discussed with the triage nurse.

    “-so, you’ve been experiencing some involuntary movements?”

    “Oh- yeah,” Virgil shoved his fidgeting fingers into his pockets with a weak sigh, “I’ve noticed tremors in my hands and legs.”

    “Were these-,” the nurse briskly peered over at Virgil’s chart, “sudden contractions the cause of your fall?”

    “Yes,” Virgil sighed, bangs draping carelessly across his eyes.

    “How long have you been experiencing tremors?” the nurse passed Virgil a sympathetic glance - the poor thing.

    “A couple weeks now,” Virgil took a shaky breath, fingernails unknowingly digging into his sweaty palms, “that’s bad isn’t it?”

    “Not necessarily,” the nurse rose slowly, placing a comforting hand on Virgil’s shoulder as he plucked up the clipboard with care, “I’ll be right back with a doctor.”

    Once the nurse was gone, Virgil fiddled anxiously with his nimble fingers as people strode past his flimsy mattress. Left on edge, the crackling of the overhead speaker had Virgil snap his head in the direction of the noisy, drab notification summoning Dr. Wilson.

    “Mr. Poole?”

    “Yes?” Virgil peeled his uneasy gaze from the monochrome speaker.

    Before him stood the altruistic nurse with a soft touch and two men fitted in jade scrubs under worn, white, physician coats.

    “Thanks Patton,” one quietly and quickly addressed the nurse with a nod before his attention shifted sharply back to Virgil.

    “Hi, I’m Dr. Dee Whittaker,” the doctor smiled as he gestured towards himself before introducing the taller man with black spectacles stood beside him, “and this is my resident, Dr. Logan Taylor.”

    “I’d like to run a few tests to see what we’re dealing with.”

    “What kind of tests?” Virgil eyed the two nervously through wispy strands.

    “Well,” Logan glanced over at Dee for confirmation before continuing, “we’d like to run several neurological and physical tests to examine and review reflexes, balance, muscle tone, movement, and walking.”

    “And?” Dee waited expectantly.

    “And perform a venipuncture on the median cubital vein,” Logan profused, demonstrating exuberant knowledge like a Mensa scholar.

   “In English, please?” Virgil grumbled, rolling his eyes and furrowing his brow.

   “We’d like to obtain some of your blood for diagnostic procedures from the vein in the elbow pit, which is medically coined the cubital fossa,” Logan carefully rephrased his earlier statement.

   “Whatever.., I guess.”

   “With your consent, Dr. Taylor will retrieve a nurse to collect a blood sample,” Dr. Dee signaled with a wave for Logan to acquire a nurse that would conduct the procedure.

   “Wait- What exactly are you testing for?” Virgil questioned with apprehension as he swept his lengthy, magenta bangs out of his vision.

   “Neurodegenerative diseases,” Logan answered a little too mechanically for comfort.

   “Like..?” Virgil bit at the inside of his cheek.

   Another glance at Dee from Logan…, “Parkinson’s disease, Spinocerebellar ataxia, and Multiple Sclerosis to name a few.”

   “And with a blood test, you can figure out if I have any of those diseases?” Virgil forced his lips together and crammed his restless hands back into his empty pockets.

   “With a test, we can rule out diseases with similar symptoms. Without testing, we can’t determine what’s causing your ataxia,” Logan nudged his thick frames back onto the bridge of his nose with his index finger.

    “How long will it take to receive the results of my blood test?”

    “About a day if the snow misses us,” Dee roughly estimated, peering down at his studded wristwatch,”we’re sending your blood sample to a neighboring lab for examination.”

    “Might as well get it over with.”

    “I’ll get the nurse then,” Logan briskly shifted on his heel, hastily departing to find a nurse practitioner.

—-

    “Patton, right?” Virgil fixed his gaze on the flimsy, laminated ID dangling from the nurse’s aerial scrubs.

    “That’s right!” Patton grinned as he stationed the metallic bedside table within reach, wheels scraping against chalky tile. Atop the table, Patton positioned several needles, alcohol pads, evacuated collection tubes, and a tourniquet across a burnished, metal plate.

    “Could you push up your sleeve and lay your arm facing up for me on the table?” Patton gestured kindly as he clutched the violet tourniquet.

    “Will the.. uh.. jab hurt?” Virgil shifted in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck with clammy hands.

    “ _Needle_ ss to say, no,” Patton giggled, hoping to put his patient at ease.

    However, when Patton noticed Virgil chewing at his bottom lip, Patton announced that he would talk Virgil through each and every step before acting.

    “I’m going to apply a tourniquet now,” Patton declared before diligently fastening a square knot above Virgil’s venipuncture site to occlude venous blood flow.

    When Virgil flexed his fingers weakly, Patton frowned, “is it too tight?”

    “I’m not sure,” Virgil admitted, grimacing at the sensation of his heart rate swiftly climbing under his skin.

    “I can loosen it a bit,” Patton reached out with concern-laden eyes, and gloved finger tips brushing against Virgil’s upper arm.

    “There,” Patton slid his index finger under the stiff knot to wriggle it loose.

    “Could you try make a fist for me now?” Patton asked warmly, imitating the motion with his own hand.

    And Virgil complied.

   “I’m going to cleanse the area with alcohol now,” Patton began prepping the venipuncture site by gently wiping cool alcohol pads against Virgil’s pale skin.

   “Okay-,” Patton delicately took Virgil’s arm into his clasp, “I’m going to insert the needle now, and you’re going to feel a slight pinch.”

   Pulling the skin taut, Patton anchored the vein to keep it from rolling as he inserted the needle into Virgil’s median cubital. Virgil grimaced as his blood flashed into the catheter, filling the evacuated collection tube rapidly.

   “Just one more tube,” Patton labeled the first sample before vigilantly depositing it into a transport bag.

    Once the next tube was brimming, Patton methodically unfastened the tourniquet as the last volume of blood was drawn. Peering up at Virgil, Patton gingerly withdrew the syringe from his tender arm before gently applying a piece of stringy gauze on the weeping vessel.

    “That’s all?” Virgil looked briefly at the bloody gauze pressed firmly against his skin.

    “That’s all, kiddo!” Patton chimed, “Now, that wasn’t too bad was it?”

    “I guess not,” Virgil grumbled.

    “Good! In the meantime, I’m going to have someone admit you to the neurology wing of the hospital.”

    “Okay…”


	2. Family history?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil undergoes a few more tests and Patton gets to know him a bit better.

    Virgil’s fingers curled around the stiff fabric resting in his palms as he meandered towards the white door frame. Twisting the iron knob as he went and shutting the heavy door behind him, Virgil pressed his back against the wooden plank, eyes fixed on the gown in his tight clutch.

    One breath. Two breaths. By the third breath, Virgil had rested the white fabric across the sink’s rounded edge before slowly discarding his ebony attire beside the gown. With his attire stowed precariously on the sink, Virgil reached for the dotted, white hospital gown.

    With the loose-fitted gown lightly brushing against his knees, Virgil noticed an abrupt tremble in his hands. To steady his shaking grasp, he clung to the upper edges of the bathroom sink as his gaze became transfixed on the mirror. His scanning eyes discerned the dangling of his bangs over charcoal eye shadow, his lips curled into a pout, and the oscillatory movements of his hands.

    Grumbling, he let his grip falter from the sink and head hang low. He needed a moment. He needed a moment before seizing his clothes and emerging into his hospital suite. Frowning, Virgil shifted as his fingers trembled above the door knob. Twisting the knob and letting the door creak open meant that there really was something wrong with him.

    “Mr. Poole?” A soft knock vibrated against the wooden frame.

    “Oh- uh, yeah. Sorry,” snapping out of it, Virgil yanked open the door.

    “I was going to assess some of your motor and sensory skills,” Logan allowed Virgil to pass him and perch cross-legged on the bed’s edge, but Virgil’s twitchy hands didn’t allude him.

    “Go ahead, doc.”

   “I’m going to start by testing your reflexes with a patellar reflex test, but I’m going to need you to situate your legs so that they’re dangling over the edge of the bed,” Logan slid his fingers into a set of thin, cyan gloves.

    Virgil huffed, untangling his legs, and letting his feet hang.

    With gloved digits, Logan skimmed his cold fingertips across Virgil’s lower leg in search for the band of tissue extending down from the patella. A few more calculating touches under Virgil’s shin, and Logan identified the patellar tendon and femoral nerve. And with a short reflex hammer, Logan struck the tendon…. Virgil’s muscles convulsed.

    “Clonus,” Logan noted, scribbling the result onto a plastic clipboard in raven ink, “let’s try testing your musculocutaneous nerve.”

   “Could you flex at the elbow for me?” Logan requested as a means to identify Virgil’s bicep tendon.

    Virgil nodded, complying as Logan watched and palpated the antecubital fossa.

   “You can relax your arm now,” Logan attentively took Virgil’s arm into his grasp with his thumb over the tendon to strike with the reflex hammer. Again, more contractions.

   “Is that normal?” Virgil wore a half-frown.

   “Well, no-,” Logan paused, laying his pen across his clipboard, “a normal reaction generates an easily observed shortening of the muscle. In your case, your muscles repetitively shortened after a single stimulation, which suggests that a pathologic process is affecting peripheral nerves that results in a reflex that is abnormal.”

   “…huh?”

   “Your muscles convulsed, which suggests there is condition affecting your nerves, but with hand tremors present, that was to be expected.”

   “Any idea what it is yet?”

   “Without more testing it’s hard to say, but I postulate the issue lies within your upper motor neurons. These are the neurons that carry motor information down the spinal cord to the lower motor neurons. The information that is sent from these neurons to the lower motor neurons signals muscles to contract, thus they are the source of voluntary movement. Increased muscle tone, reflexes, and weakness would all point to lesions on your upper motor neurons, but without more testing, we cannot be sure.”

   “I see.”

   “Speaking of such testing, I’m going to begin evaluating your muscle tone and then your gait.”

    Virgil nodded, glance cast to the side.

   “To start, I’m going to need you to relax for me again,” Logan clinically solicited.

    To begin testing Virgil’s upper extremity muscle tone, Logan passively rolled the joints in Virgil’s wrist and upper arm to test for rigidity. Finding some resistance, Logan apacely scrawled it onto Virgil’s charts.

    “Could you lie flat on your back now?”

    “Uh, sure,” Virgil swung his legs over the mattress as he slanted back.

    “Now, I’m going to need you to relax,” Logan repeated, pressing his palm above Virgil’s bare ankle. Moving to Virgil’s lower leg, Logan slipped his palm under his patient’s relaxed knee to suddenly bend the shin to test lower extremity muscle tone. More resistance.

    “Hmm,” Logan nodded mostly to himself, “to test your gait, I’m going to need you to walk away from me and then back towards me.”

    “Okay..,” Virgil sat up, shifting his frame so his feet brushed against the tile floor.

    Planting his feet on the ground, Virgil strolled from the bed to the farthest wall before ambling back in the direction of the doctor. And during this process, Logan took note of Virgil’s stance, stability, and leg stiffness. He watched Virgil’s leg swings and arm swings observantly. His eyes inspected Virgil’s degree of knee bending and his rate and speed only to note a decreased left arm swing.

    “Unsteady gait,” Logan jotted down.

    “I take it that’s bad?” Virgil plopped back onto the bed, picking at his black nail polish.

    “It just means a walking abnormality is present.”

    “And?”

   “And that could be caused by underlying conditions or injuries.”

   “Does that mean it could be something like Parkinson’s disease?” Virgil’s heart rate quickened.

   “It’s possible,” Logan admitted, “but we just can’t be sure with the little testing we’ve done.”

   “My blood test can help though, right? That’s what you said earlier.”

   “It’ll help us determine a diagnosis, but it’s likely the storm will delay it a couple days,” Logan glanced at Virgil apologetically, but it came off mechanically, “Anyhow, it seems optimal to take a short break from testing now.”

   Collecting up his clipboard, Logan stood in the door frame, “And in the meantime, a nurse will periodically check up on you.”

    “Okay…,” Virgil sighed.

    With Virgil taken care of, Logan strode down the long, achromatic hallway with his clipboard pressed up against his chest and his framed eyes fixed on the nurse’s station. His shoes squeaking against newly polished floors captured the attention of patients and doctors alike. And as he passed Dr. Whittaker reviewing a patient’s extensive charts, Logan offered him a polite smile.

    Now standing over the cubed nurse’s station, Logan watched as Patton’s fingers built a bridge between words, “Salutations, Patton.”

    Tearing his gaze from the new monitor, Patton grinned, “Hello, Logan.”

    “I’d appreciate it if you could check up on Virgil Poole for me before your shift ends in a couple hours. Maybe take a neurological history for me?” Logan didn’t waste time with idle chatter.

    “Sure thing,” Patton’s eyes and nose crinkled, “I’ll pay him a visit.”

    “Thanks Pat- …Oh, Great,” Logan frowned, turning on his heel at the mere sight of Dr. Wilson’s poised approach.

    “Trying to avoid me, spectacles?” Dr. Wilson tsk’d.

    “Attempting to,” Logan muttered under his breath.

    Feigning an offended gasp, Dr. Wilson placed his palm over his chest.

    “But you adore our little chats, Lo,” he purred, inching close enough to Logan to count the careless stippling of freckles across his cheeks.

    “How are you, Roman?” Patton kindly interjected, fingers resting atop black keys.

    Flustered, Logan glanced down and away. _He didn’t deny it._

    “Much better now that Lo’s back,” Roman grinned wide like a Cheshire cat.

    “I was only gone a week.”

    “And a terrible week it was.”

—

    Virgil peered out the frosted-over window through slats in the flimsy blinds, watching as specks of snow colored the road in ivory as the chilly air of the ceiling vent caressed his exposed skin.

    “Mr. Poole?”

    Virgil exhaled, shifting on the mattress to face the doorway, “more testing?”

    “Just here to collect a neurological history if that’s alright,” one of Patton’s palms rested against the door frame while the other seized a clipboard.

    “Go ahead, I guess,” Virgil raised his downcast eyes and shrugged slightly.

    “I can come back later,” instantly noticing Virgil’s hunched posture, Patton shifted his feet to retreat.

    “No- it’s fine. Ask away,” Virgil peered up before picking again at the remaining flecks of nail polish clinging to his nails.

    “Okay..,” Patton reluctantly stepped into the darkened room, brows knitted into a frown, “Do you have a history of head injury or seizures?”

    “No,” Virgil brushed away unattached, onyx, polish particles onto the stiff sheets.

    “Have you ever had surgery involving the nervous system?” Patton continued, pen tip pressed against papers shoved under the board’s metal clip.

    “No.”

    “Have you ever been treated for a neurological problem?”

    Another ‘no.’

    “Have you ever had a serious injury?”

    “If it matters, I broke my leg when I was nine,” Virgil rested his head in his now unbusy palm, gaze flitted to his crossed legs.

   “How were you treated?” Patton momentarily glanced up from the charts.

   “The doc had me wear a cast and use crutches for six weeks,” Virgil shrugged. He had been sketching - sketching wolves and bluishly radiant moons in the aged tree flourishing by his hinged, bedside window when he fractured his femur. Dropping his pen from the branch had sealed Virgil’s destiny as his balance departed with his attempt to capture it.

   “Do you have any residual effects from breaking your leg?”

   “..No.”

    Another scribble from Patton.

   “Do you have any other medical problems?”

   “Uh,” Virgil paused hesitantly, peering up to inspect Patton’s expression, “…anxiety.”

   “What about prescriptions?” Patton inquired, tilting his head, “are you currently taking any prescribed or over the counter medications?”

   “No.”

    Sighing, Patton scrawled the same answer in black pen on Virgil’s messy charts, “Could you tell me about your family’s medical history?”

    “Dad died of a heart attack and mom’s out of the picture,” Virgil huffed bluntly, shrugging with his eyes.

    “Any brothers, sisters, or cousins?” Patton donned a half-frown.

    “Nope, no, and no,” Virgil mumbled, missing the distraction that unwinding the threads of his coal-colored hoodie brought him.

    “Aunts? Uncles?”

    “Not that I know about.”

    “Oh..,” Patton frowned.

    “That all you need?” Virgil cleared his throat.

    “Uh-,” Snapping out of his haze, Patton replied, “yeah.”

    “That’s all I need,” He quickly clarified, rubbing the back of his neck.

    As Patton turned on his heel to leave, his steps faltered. He was incapable of halting his thoughts from sprinting painfully back in time to Remy. Shaking his head, Patton stopped in his footsteps and shifted to face Virgil, “Do you, uh, have anyone that will visit you? ”

     “What?” Virgil tilted his head, shoulders visibly slumping once he processed the question.

    Patton knew it wasn’t his right to pry, but he asked anyway.

     “I’m sorry,” Patton rapidly backtracked, “I- I really shouldn’t have asked.”

     “It’s whatever,” Virgil huffed, looking at his bare nails.

     “I could come and check up on you occasionally if you’d like,” Patton rushed through his words.

     “Uh-,” Virgil angled his head, unsure of what to make of the offer, “…sure.”


	3. 'Resisting a Rest'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman, Logan, and Patton get the opportunity to catch up a bit before Roman drags Logan with him when he gets paged.

    “Today isn’t the day to be making jokes about the weather!” Patton chuckled, mouth twitching into a smile as he gazed at the other lounging on the hospital bed, “It’s  _ snow  _ joke.”

    Virgil shook his head, hiding a small grin behind his palm that the other couldn’t see. Patton had wandered into Virgil’s room once again to tote yet another new and awful pun with him, not that Virgil minded the attention or the distraction Patton had provided. 

    “Not that I don’t enjoy your company, Patton, but don’t you have other patients to check up on or something?” Virgil sat up slowly, sighing as he crossed his legs under the thin sheets.

    “Nah, I’m on my break,” Patton’s eyes crinkled as he plopped down onto the chair beside Virgil’s bed, making it creak slightly as he shifted. 

    “You go on break a lot.”

    “Do not,” Patton giggled, relaxing against the felted chair cover before peering over at Virgil again, “okay, maybe a little bit.”

\----

    “Why is it called it ‘insomnia’, and not ‘resisting a rest’?” Patton leaned against the door frame, lifting an eyebrow as he peered at Virgil scrolling lazily through Tumblr on his phone. 

    “It’s like three in the morning, shouldn’t you be at home sleeping or something?” Virgil glanced up from his phone to see Patton striding closer to his bed before stopping at the foot of the mattress. 

    “Night shift,” Patton paused to lazily sip at his cold coffee, “What about you, shouldn’t you be asleep by now?”

    “Couldn’t sleep,” Virgil sighed, scrolling aimlessly.

    “Might be best to put your phone away. The light can make it hard to nap,” Patton frowned faintly with his eyes trained on the device in Virgil’s palm. 

    “Yeah…, I guess,” Virgil clicked his phone off, the blue light illuminating his cheeks disappearing as he plunked the device down onto the bedside table with an audible thud. 

“Would you like to me to leave so you can get some rest?” Patton took yet another small sip from his cup as he eyed his patient through the dark.

“Uh, I guess- I mean, you probably have to help someone or something,” Virgil shrugged, casting a glance off to the side.

“Let me know if you need anything,” Patton smiled softly, slipping out of Virgil’s room into the bright hallway only after he’d seen the other man nod.

Taking another swig of his bitter and cold coffee, Patton discarded the cup into the nearest trash can as he sluggishly ambled towards the nurse’s station. He didn’t even know why he bothered drinking coffee -- It never perked him up, and it didn’t even taste good cold and sugarless.

“It would seem highly probable that we will be unable to go home after our shifts end.”

Patton turned to see Logan swiftly scribbling something onto a chart atop the nurse’s counter in pen.

“Hmm?” Patton plopped down into his swivel chair, combing a hand through his curly strands.

“We’re expected to get several feet of snow,” Logan eyed the page, eyes darting over his writing to check for mistakes before gathering up his clipboard and holding it to his chest. 

“By morning?” Patton leaned against the back of his chair, covering a quiet yawn behind his palm. 

“It would appear that way,” Logan paused, looking over at him before he pivoted to leave, “You should drink some coffee. You look tired, Patton.” 

Gee… Thanks.

\----

    “I’m surprised you’re still here,” Logan peered into the on-call room, spotting Roman splayed out carelessly on one of the bunks pressed against the wall. Flicking the light switch on unkindly, Logan strode towards the food counter to brew a fresh, steaming pot of coffee. 

    “Huh?” Roman groaned, shifting under the indigo sheets to rest on his elbows, “I need my beauty rest before I’m due to be on call.”

    Shifting further, Roman tiredly swung his legs over the edge of the mattress to watch Logan as he added hot water to the coffee maker. 

    “You could join me if you like,” Roman wiggled his brows, grinning slyly over at Logan. 

    “I’ve got patients to tend to,” Logan huffed as he added coffee into the filter. 

    Roman frowned, stretching his stiff arms as he peered at the clock glued to the wall above Logan’s head. ‘4:27’

    “At four in the morning?” Roman pouted slightly, not that Logan noticed as he pivoted to insert the basket into the machine.

    “We work in a hospital, Roman,” Logan turned, furrowing his brow and pinching at the bridge of his nose, “so, yes, I have things I need to get done.”

    “Fine. Could you toss me that granola bar?” Roman motioned towards the bar resting on the table between them.

    “Fruits better for you,” Logan plucked a fruit from the basket on the counter and tossed him an apple instead.

    “Granola is packed full of sugar. Fruit provides long-lasting energy and fiber to fill you up,” Logan clarified, swiveling as he heard the purr of the coffee machine beside him signaling for him to take the grinds out.

    “Aww, you do care about me, nerd,” Roman cooed, smiling as he turned the glossy apple over in his calloused hands.

    “I care about your health,” Logan corrected as he reached inside one of the cabinets to gather two mugs. 

    “Mhm.”

    Logan rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he filled the two mugs up with the freshly brewed coffee. And with extra care, Logan poured a few packets of granulated sugar into one of steaming mugs.

    Now, carefully grasping the ivory cups of warm coffee, Logan sauntered towards the agape door, “Goodbye, Roman.” 

    “What-,” Roman pouted, “no coffee for me?”

    “No,” Logan shut the door to the doctors’ mess room with his heel before shuffling in the direction of the nurse’s station, shoes squeaking thunderously along the way. 

    Patton looked up at the sound of Logan’s shoes squeaking against the tile floors. Perhaps wearing his brand new shoes on his first day back was truly a mistake. 

    “I brought you a coffee,” Logan cautiously set the warm mug on the counter in front of Patton. 

    Leaning forward, Patton wrapped his hands around the mug, savoring the heat as he did so, “Thank you, Lo.”

    Taking a tentative sip from the cup, Patton grinned a dopey, lopsided smile, “you remembered!”

Logan nodded wordlessly, smiling faintly as he carried his own mug with him to peer out the ice-laden windows a few feet away. Patton watched from his chair as Logan observed the crawling frost and the snow falling like white dove feathers. 

“It’s been getting worse,” Patton spoke up, swiveling away from his computer, “like you said it would.” 

Logan shifted to face Patton as he took another sip of his brew, “Unfortunately so.”

Pausing for a second to nurse his coffee, Logan continued, “Were you aware that this will be the worst blizzard in New York by government records?” 

“That’s  _ snow _ neat,” Patton chuckled from behind his coffee, fingers wrapped tightly around the mug as if Logan would snatch it away at any moment for making a joke.  

Logan groaned out loud, shaking his head at the atrocity Patton called a ‘pun’.

“What? You don’t like my puns? How  _ cold,” _ Patton’s amusement split his face from ear to ear. It was just too much fun!

Another huff, “As I was saying, Patton, this blizzard will be worse than the North American Blizzard of 2006 which dumped a full 26.9 inches of snow on New York City.”

“That’s s _ no _ w good.”

“I shouldn’t have gotten you the coffee,” Logan gave a disapproving gesture, nearly flinging his own cup, “you’ve turned into an insatiable pun machine.”

“Okay- Okay, I’ll stop with the puns… for now,” Patton attempted but failed to suppress his giggles. 

“Why do I put up with any of you?” Logan sighed, speaking mostly to himself. 

“‘Cause you wouldn’t know what to do without us, glasses,” Roman snuck up behind him, grinning widely with his own coffee in hand.

Shifting to face Roman and opening his mouth to respond, Logan paused, shaking his head instead. 

“You know, you could have poured me a cup too, Logan,” Roman tsk’d when Logan eyed the cup loosely in his grasp.

“I hope you didn’t dump creamer in that,” Logan rolled his eyes, knowing damn well that Roman had poured an ungodly amount of milk substitute into that tiny mug.

“Self-care,” Roman spoke with flare, taking a generous swig of his coffee concoction without a care in the world. 

“I didn’t know self-care was increasing your risk of heart disease and stroke,” Logan shrugged, opting not to hide his smirk behind his own mug. 

“You only live once, pocket protector,” Roman wore a pie-eating grin as he waved his free hand dramatically, “live a little!” 

“I’m perfectly content, Roman.”

“If you say so, resident nerd,” Roman grinned, savoring the huff that tumbled from Logan’s chapped lips. 

“Oh!” Patton interjected, nearly jumping out of his seat as he recalled Logan’s earlier request, “I’ve checked up on Virgil, like you asked, Lo.”

“Oh?” Logan raised a brow, cocking his head. 

“I have his neurological check up right here - I was just typing it and a few other things into the electronic health record before doing rounds,” Patton explained, digging around for the clipboard with Virgil’s chart, “Ah! Here it is!”

“Could I see it for a moment, Patton?” Logan inquired, taking a step towards the nurse’s counter. 

“Sure,” Patton beamed, the corners of his mouth quirking up as he passed Logan the charts, “Here ya go!”

“Thank you,” Logan set his drink down before scanning Patton’s chicken scratch, hoping to find something out of the ordinary hiding in Virgil’s apacely scrawled charts, yet he found nothing of the sort.

“I don’t see anything amiss,” Logan frowned as Roman peered uncomfortably over his shoulder to catch a glimpse. 

“Let me take a look,” Roman reached for the clipboard but Logan immediately extended his arm to keep Roman’s paws away from the papers.

“Oh, come on, Lo. I’m just trying to help.”

Pausing for a moment, Logan sighed before surrendering the clipboard to the attending. And it was quiet for a moment as Roman examined Patton’s notes. 

“No family history?” Roman furrowed his brow as he peered over at the nurse waiting expectantly. 

“Oh-- Ro, it’s so sad-” Patton started, lips curled into a frown, “he went into foster care after his mother left and his father died.”

“No siblings? No aunts or uncles?” Roman questioned, uncertainty creeping into his voice. Who didn’t have a single relative?

“Nothing. He’s all alone!” Patton’s down-turned mouth deepened as he continued.

“That’s quite unfortunate,” Logan added, unsure of what else to say to ease Patton’s woes... Perhaps a change in topic was in order?

“Yeah..,” Roman raked a hand through his hair as he handed the clipboard back to Logan, “It’s very sad, Pat.”

“I expect the blood test should provide us insight into his condition,” Logan reckoned, hoping that it would put Patton at ease for the time being.

“I hope so,” Patton shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“Oh- I’ve-” Roman paused, fishing his pager out of his pocket after an urgent buzz, gaze fixed on the words lighting up the screen, “I- I’ve got to go.”

“Hmm?” Logan tilted his head, watching as Roman pocketed his pager.

“Code pink,” Roman elucidated after noticing Patton and Logan’s confused gazes directed his way, “you can tag along if you like, Logan. It’d be a good experience.”

“Sure,” Logan shrugged, not hesitating to give in to Roman’s offer. Experience was experience after all. “Where to?”

“The ED,” Roman answered, throwing back an expectant glance at Logan as he neared the end of the hallway, “are you coming or not?”

“Oh, uh, yes,” Logan scurried after Roman, tagging closely behind as Roman yanked open the doors to the Emergency Department to speed in the direction of one of the filled cots. Upon reaching the cot, Logan noticed a small child with lips colored sapphire and skin pale as snow.

    “Who applied direct heat?” Roman made a face, brow furrowing as he eyed the heating blanket, “Lo, can you go find something more appropriate?” 

    Nodding his head, Logan quickly stepped away from Roman’s side to find a thermal blanket for the patient instead. 

    “Hey, Sanders!” Roman called, eyes narrowing and head tilting slightly as he spotted Dr. Sanders advancing towards the nurse’s station, “You need to be watching your med students more closely.” 

   "Huh?” Dr. Sanders turned, caught off guard at Roman’s vexed tone.

    “Your third-year used a heating pad on a patient with hypothermia,” Roman’s voice dripped with disapproval as his eyes darted between the kid and Dr. Sanders, which only served as a means to fan the flames of his irritation.

    “Oh, shit,” Thomas bit his lip as he started towards Roman, “I leave her alone for one minute and she nearly burns a child.” 

     Running his fingers over his brows, Thomas sighed, “Thanks for the catch, Wilson.”

    “It’s a good thing you paged me,” Roman’s voice oozed obvious displeasure. 

    Holding in an exasperated sigh, Roman eyed the hemodialysis machine - a machine typically used to filter blood in people with poor kidney function, “I see you started warming his blood with a hemodialysis machine. What’d you need to page me for?” 

    “The blood wasn’t warming at first,” Thomas frowned, monitoring the display to avoid the scrutiny of Roman’s miffed gaze. 

    “So, you’ve gotten the hypothermia under control?” Roman questioned, eyeing the unconscious patient with uncertainty.  

    “Got the blankets,” Logan returned, his voice slicing through the tension as his gaze darted between the two attendings with the blankets in his grasp. 

    “Good, wrap the patient up, would you?” Roman shifted, gesturing towards the kid.

    “Sure, Roman,” Logan removed the heating blanket and began bundling the child up in tan blankets from head to toe. After all, direct heat can damage the skin or even cause irregular heartbeats so severe that they can cause the heart to stop completely.

    Ignoring the flamboyant bickering that started up between the two attendings, Logan paused his bundling, peering at the systolic and diastolic pressure on the child’s heart monitor. Looking between the child and the monitor, Logan hesitated - the pressure was nearing 130/90. Perhaps these blankets would help to lower the blood pressure? After all, the cold makes the heart work harder to keep the body warm, and thus has the potential to increase blood pressure. Logically, the blankets and the hemodialysis machine should raise the child’s temperature and reduce the strain on the kid’s heart. Hopefully. 

    But it only took a mere second for the child’s heart rate to soar past a hundred, and it took only a fraction of the next second for the monitor to send out a scalding alert. 


	4. Faulty Reason?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan loses a patient and has a talk with Patton and Roman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Death (NOT MAIN CHARACTER DEATH).

* * *

     “Logan… Lo-”

    “What Roman!” Logan snapped, whipping his head Roman’s way. Sweat dripped down his brow as he kept pressing the heel of his interlocked fingers down.

    “He’s been down forty-three minutes,” Roman said softly, fingers latching onto Logan’s arm.

    To his dismay, Logan roughly shook off his grasp. Nothing was working; the defibrillator atop the crash cart had done nothing to restart the child’s choked heart.

    Training his jaded eyes back onto the monitor, Logan watched on as the desperate pressing of his hands forged fleeting peaks. Ceasing again, Logan rattled his fist, his nails digging gratingly into his sweaty palm. And the crests were rapidly replaced with the shrill of the flatline buzz.

    ‘Fuck,’ he cursed under his breath, disregarding the throbbing ache in his arms and the sticky feeling of sweat hugging his skin as he began compressions again. The line of nurses waiting to take over had dwindled. And instead, tired eyes watched Logan’s adamant refusal.  

    “Logan,” Roman hesitated to reach out a second time, but the larger the crowd of patients that framed them, the faster he knew he needed to bring it to an end, “Lo, you need to stop.”

    “People have come back after having been down for longer,” Logan countered, rhythm faltering and voice strained.

    “Lo.., he’s been deprived of oxygen for too long.”

    Logan _knew_ Roman was right. The longer the brain was deprived of oxygen, the worse the damage would be. Logically, he should stop. He should stop. What he was doing defied logic. But reason, faulty or not, told him that there was a chance; he’d seen it happen before. So, no, he can’t stop from pressing the heel of his palm down. He-

    “Stop, Logan,” Roman firmly grabbed Logan’s sweat-slicked arm, dragging him off the patient and onto the tile floor.

    “No-,” Logan spat coldly, trying to tug his arm free from the attending pulling him away, but that didn’t halt Roman from tugging him further as the monitor shrieked out a dying cry. It screeched at him, wailed at him, and squawked at him. And he wilted. He wilted hearing the shattering whine of the flatline. And he stopped fighting. He slumped, watching the nurses’ unplug the heart monitor; the call of the monitor vanishing like ships crossing the Bermuda triangle. Absent was the rise and fall of the child’s chest, and absent was the reassuring beep. Instead, reassurance was replaced by machine wheels being dragged away along scratched floors.

    Teal lips and muted, cold skin glaring at him from the corner of his eye sunk their teeth sharply into his memory. But what had, had tears springing into the corners of his eyes was the withered flower visage, the sagged shoulders, and the child’s arms limp at his sides. It was seeing them shelter the child in a flimsy, white sheet that caused Logan to truly depress.

    “F-Fuck off, Ro,” Logan shook, finally yanking his arm free. Stumbling, he turned, wiping away the tears before anyone could see them leave wet trails in their wake.

    “Logan-”

    Logan cleared his throat, shifting, and abruptly cutting off Roman.

    “The beta-blockers should have worked,” He, then, said all too controlled, fists clenched and watching on stiffly like a switch had been flipped. The Propranolol should have worked. _Why hadn’t it worked?_

    “I know, Lo,” Roman frowned with unease, guiding them both down the achromatic hallway. He’d never observed Logan as anything other than the stoic, calculating logicistian he so frequently gloated on being… “You know you didn’t do anything wrong, right?” Roman watched the other scrunch up his nose as if he’d been asked to try escargot.

    “The facts would seem to suggest otherwise,” Logan scoffed under his breath.

    “I know you know that sometimes people can’t be saved,” Roman opted to use logic against him as he ushered him through the mess room’s ajar door.  

    “I’m aware.”

    “Then you’d know it wasn’t your fault. Sometimes we just lose patients,” Roman said, shutting the door and steering Logan’s stiff frame to sit on the mattress beside him.

    “Yes, well-” Logan muttered, peeling away from the look Roman offered children to comfort them through a particularly painful injection, “ _I_ haven’t.”

    “Never?”

    “That is what I said.”

    When Roman fell silent, Logan glanced back at Roman to see his mouth curled downward like a bad omen. He was about to speak up when Roman suddenly interjected, “Do you know why I went into pediatrics?”

    “You’re too exuberant and animated for any other field,” Logan joked jadedly, scooting back further onto the bed, the mattress faintly creaking underneath him as he did so.

    “No- _well_ , it does help with dealing with children, but no, that’s not the reason,” Roman shook his head, a choked laugh caught in the back of his throat.

    “Why then?”

    He’d piqued Logan’s interest, but Roman had fallen silent a second time - two times too many. For a man that was so boisterous and noisy at every possible opportunity, him sitting there with his hands resting limply in his lap was unnerving. It was far from the childlike energy he typically exuded.

    “…Roman?”

    “In my third year of med school.., I was assigned a pediatric oncology rotation-”

    “I do remember you mentioning that quite a few times. It would appear it had an impact on you.”

    “Yes…,” He wasn’t past the point of return, but in a moment of trust he proceeded, “but I’ve never told you about Layla.”

    “Layla?”

    “She was the bravest princess,” Roman smiled ruefully, head lolling forward slightly, “She adored my marvelous story telling; her favorite tale was the battle of the dragon witch and the strong, fearless princess!”

    Pausing to collect himself as history painfully nudged its way into the present, Roman continued, “Oh, Lo, if only you could have seen the dreams reflecting in her eyes and the way she lit up every room with her contagious smiles.”

     “More contagious than dear Patton’s!” Roman’s fragile smile straddled the edge of sinking again as his fingertips swiped away new tears over old memories.

    “What happened to Layla, Roman?”

    “She had acute myelogenous leukemia…,” he let out a shaky sigh as he reached into the past to tug those memories looser. Memories of Layla were fragile treasures, priceless glimpses of hope. Memories of her enacting a battle with Roman and striking him with a foam sword before she was too sick to get out of bed weren’t allowed to simply fade away. Those memories once left his heart mangled and weeping. But memories of Layla going wide-eyed as Roman spoke frivolously of the adventures of Princess Fiona and of Layla giggling wildly as Roman’s attending poked fun at him sprung forward with dizzying speed; short, happy time capsules of history nestled in Roman’s mind.

    “She was nine, Lo, and I blamed myself. I was the one that encouraged the transplant.”

    “But you know what?” Roman continued, drying his downcast eyes with his white sleeve, “she helped me; her story shaped mine.”

     When Logan didn’t say anything, Roman resumed, his voice freckled with an incurable ache, “There was a time when I tried to shake the memories because it hurt. It pained me too much, but it was Layla that made me fight for pediatrics.”

    And a silence fell over them.

    “I- I.. I don’t know what to say.”

    “Lo, what I’m trying to tell you is that we can’t save everybody no matter how hard we try, and I know you won’t admit how much it’s eating at you and how much it’ll eat at you because ‘it defies logic’, but I want you to get it into your brainiac head of yours that you’re not alone.”

    Glancing over at Roman, Logan saw the fences torn down by the man himself, “I- Thank you, Roman.”

——-

    “Ye- yes, Patton,” Logan nodded quickly,  interrupting Patton’s distressed rambling, and eyeing the way Roman disappeared back into the E.R., “I am fine. It was just a moment of weakness.”

    “Having emotions isn’t a weakness.”

    “Emotions are messy and unpredictable and precarious.” Emotions were far from the safe clutches of reasoning and deduction; emotions just weren’t Logan’s thing.

    “You shouldn’t feel guilty or view having feelings as a weakness,” Patton set the fact free from its fetters, “sure, sometimes, your feelings may not make sense, but it’s not your feelings job to make sense. You just… experience them. And you have to do your best to deal with them.”

   Logan stopped, pondered even, only to recycle pages of his own inadequate words and cycle through dozens more he wouldn’t share.

    “Yeah?” Patton cocked his head, picking up again, “understanding them and being in touch with them can give us a better outlook on our issues and our situations. And by understanding how they influence us, we can better evaluate ourselves.” He could tell he was starting to sway Logan, but Logan had long ago cocooned himself in the safety of rationality.

    “Have you heard of Antonio Damasio?” Patton pursued changing Logan’s mind like he chased after a second cookie.  

    Logan shook his head.

    “Well, Antonio Damasio noticed that when his patients lost the part of the brain that controlled emotions, the patients’ decision making abilities became very poor. So, where would we be if we didn’t have the emotional side of our brains?”

    “Huh…” Logan furrowed his brow, eyeing Patton incredulously, “you seem to make a sound argument, Patton.”

    “Hmm….,” after another wordless moment of careful contemplation, Logan spoke up again, “it would seem you are.. right, Patton.” Patton was right? What..? Patton was right…

    “Oh my juice! Really?” His spirit danced with reason to celebrate, lips stretched into a shocked grin.

    “…Yes,” Logan admitted, though he much preferred not having to say it a second time. It was like pulling teeth to hear him verbally acknowledge when he was wrong, but maybe that’s what made it so astonishing to hear.

    “Come ‘ere, hug time!”

    “Fine..” Logan grumbled, letting Patton wrap his arms tightly around him, his own limbs trapped underneath the sweet sunshine’s arms circling his torso.

    “Just know that I’m here for you, Lo,” Patton squeezed, looking up at Logan before letting go. He knew Logan didn’t particularly enjoy long hugs even if they were from him.

    “Thank you, Patton.”

    “Now, how about we go get a nice warm cup of hot cocoa?”

    “That would be satisfactory.”

    “Yay! Let’s g- Oh-” Patton started and then stopped, cogs turning before setting his own universe back in motion, “maybe I should see if Virgil’s up first? You did say you wanted me to keep an eye on him. Last time I checked in on him it was three ish?”

    “That’s right,” Logan said, waving his hand, “go ahead, Patton, I’ll meet you in the cafeteria.”

    “Okay! I’ll be right behind you!” Patton leapt into motion with a pep in his step. He’d done good.              


	5. Insomina's a Bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton is still trying to help Virgil sleep, and Logan and Patton try to find time to talk.

“Still?” Patton eyed Virgil scrolling through his phone again, voice delicate like silver bells, “what happened to putting the phone away?” Virgil’s back had been facing Patton as his fingers slid across the dimly lit screen, dawn already seeping through the window. 

“Insomnia’s a bitch.” 

“How long have you been up?” Patton edged closer, watching Virgil flop with an exasperated sigh onto his other side.

“Well, considering that its 6am now, I’d say about 27 hours?” 

“Virgil Poole!”

“Like I said insomnia’s a b-”

“Bad,” Patton scrambled, interrupting to correct him this time around, “it’s bad.” 

Virgil laughed throatily, sputtering like an old water faucet, “sure thing.”

    Wagging his finger with disapproval, Patton strode towards the windows to shut the clanky blinds permitting the blooms of dawn. Pausing, Patton peered out to catch a glimpse of snow layered on the ground as if it were sheets of stringy, white felt. Instead of the apricot horizon he watched bathe skyscrapers morning after morning, he witnessed gray skies and powerful gusts slinging ice and snow. He knew Logan was right when he said that it would be a bad storm, but the worst storm in the history of NYC? It would certainly seem that way now. 

    Finally closing the blinds, Patton held up one finger, an idea springing forward, as he darted out of the room, leaving Virgil alone again. He knew just what Virgil needed to fix his sleeping issue. And when Patton reappeared, Virgil was back to skimming posts on his phone like a Tumblr addict. Now stepping back into the room, Patton carried with him a pair of ear plugs and an eye mask, and most importantly a gummy grin.

“These might help,” Patton offered, extending his hand holding the ear plugs and mask out to Virgil.

“Ear plugs?” Virgil asked, his fatigued voice littered with confusion.

“Well, it does get plenty noisy here! It should help block out the sound a bit to make it easier to sleep.”

“...Thanks,” Virgil slowly grabbed the two items from Patton’s outstretched hand before finally looking back up at him.

“No problem!” Patton was more than happy to be of help, “and if you still can’t sleep, you let me or someone else know, okay?”

“..Okay,” Virgil fiddled with the ear plugs, waiting for Patton to leave before he plucked up the courage to put them in or the eye mask on.

“Good, try and get some rest now, yeah?” Patton waited for Virgil to nod before sauntering towards the hallway and quietly shutting the heavy, suite door.

Now ambling away from Virgil’s shaded room, Patton steered himself towards the elevators. To meet Logan in the cafeteria, he would need to go up one floor. So, tiredly, now much more aware of how much he felt like a worn-out shoe, Patton stepped up to press the elevators’ shabby, call button. 

“Hhhello, Patton,” a low voice crept up from behind him; if it were a snake, it would have bit him.

Jumping at the voice’s proximity, Patton looked back, startled. But he immediately relaxed, a sigh of relief tumbling from his lips, when he recognized the deep scar darting from one corner of the figure’s mouth to their cheek, “you gave me quite a scare there, Dee!”

“My bad,” Dee chuckled, moving to stand beside Patton as they waited for the same elevator. 

“It’s a’okay!” 

Nodding, Dee shifted on his heels, waiting for the elevator like one watched paint dry, “you look exhausted.”

“Yeah, a twelve hour shift will do that to ya.”

“Gross, how about I buy you a cookie or something sweet since you’re off now?” 

“Oh no, that’s no-” the elevator dinged, and the top triangle on the hall lantern lit up a dull amber color. After which, the doors skated open to reveal an empty, silver elevator car. “That’s not necessary, but thank you,” he finished. 

    Accepting Patton’s response, Dee stepped into the box first, eyeing the way in which Patton followed after him, “Where to, Patton?”

“The second floor.”

“Cafeteria?” Dee languidly reached out to press down the second floor button.

“Yeah, ‘had a few things to take of first before finishing my shift.” 

    It only took a few seconds for the doors to begin rattling shut with Patton and Dee inside, corralling them into the metal cage. And with doors shut, the floor rumbled its ascent as Dee leaned back against the cold, elevator railing. And within a moment, the elevator was suspended on the second floor, settling before the doors unhurriedly unsealed to divulge the cafeteria. 

    Dee watched as Patton parted from him to survey the cafeteria in search of Logan. Patton didn’t see him standing by the food counter hunched over a display of muffins and deli sandwiches. And he didn’t see Logan by the hot chocolate machine or the coffeemaker. Instead, he found him tucked away with a steaming cup of cocoa in the far corner with a weathered book by himself. 

    “Lo?”

    “Hm?” Logan hummed, turning his head as Patton quietly pulled a chair out from underneath the table to join him. 

    “I see you got some hot chocolate and a book,” Patton inspected the mug, watching as Logan shut the navy book before pushing it out of the way and to the side, “but no marshmallows!”

    “Patton, they consist of almost entirely sugar. Most importantly, they add nothing to your daily intake of beneficial nutrients.” 

    “Soooooo?” Patton disagreed, “they’re delicious.” If Patton had grabbed a mug of cocoa before sitting down with Lo, it would have been filled to the brim with minimallows just as he liked it. 

    “They are unhealthy, Patton.” 

    “Roman was right when he said you need to live a little,” Patton giggled, voice gentle like a warm ray of sunshine on a summer afternoon.

    Rolling his eyes at Patton’s remark, Logan looked away as he took a sip from his hot chocolate. 

    “Oh, you know I’m only joking, Lo,” Patton reached out to touch Logan’s arm as he tried to suppress his giggling like a dam holds back water, “Here, let’s change the topic: how was your week off?”

    “It was adequate.” 

    "Oh come on, Lo, tell me more.”

    “I saw my sister, so it was tolerable.” 

    “Oh?” Patton inquired, hoping Logan would put everything out under the sun. But at times, Logan was like a locked door; rarely would he open those doors to share his past with anyone, even if that person was his best friend, Patton.

    “We were able to have a conversation this time.” A little bit slipped out. For the most part, he kept to himself; convincing Logan to talk about his sister was like pulling teeth without anesthesia. That conversation he had about the patient in the E.R with Roman had been an exception; his emotions, emotions that were like a kite tangled in the branches of an old oak, were scattered and running high.  

    “Guess it’s better than the last time, huh?”

“Might we talk about something a little less emotionally charged? I am quite drained from today, Patton.”

“Oh- yeah, sorry,” Patton cringed, heavy with regret for pushing Logan, “I know you don’t like to talk much about that...” He knew better than to keep pestering Logan over something he clearly wasn’t ready to talk about. He couldn’t expect Logan to unseal that locked door of his today.

“It’s fine, Patton,” Logan waved it off like nothing had happened, “How was Virgil Poole when you checked up on him?”

“Oh!!” Patton’s expression softened like butter left at room temperature, “he couldn’t sleep at all.”

“Insomnia?” 

“Yeppers,” Patton sighed wistfully, “it’s the worst.” Being trapped with your own thoughts before daybreak was deafening; Remy always said that the shadows made lonely company. 

“If not, it’s something to look into. Not getting enough sleep can impair attention, reaction time, motor coordination, decision-making skills, and immune system functioning.”

    “Yeah.., I know what sleep deprivation does to the body, Lo,” Patton said a little distantly, eyes blanky transfixed on a spot over Logan’s shoulder.

    To the untrained eye, someone else would just assume Patton was only overtired from a long-lasting shift, but Logan knew better. He knew much better; he was acutely aware of what a Patton imprisoned in a field of distant memories looked like.

    “Pat?”

    A moment passed before Patton snapped out of it, “Yeah? ..sorry.”

    “Are you okay, Patton?” A flicker of concern skipped across Logan’s face; he wanted to oust the memory that had Patton tethered to his thoughts.

    “Just thinking…”

    “About?” 

    “...Remy,” He admitted timidly.

    “Oh,” Logan was frozen into silence; Patton’s thoughts stood in the shadows no more. But Logan’s response had Patton shifting in his seat; he could feel the silence wafting in their secluded bubble as Patton darted his eyes to watch people seizing nearby tables.

    “Yeah…”

    Logan soaked it up before he could let an even more uncomfortable silence befall them, “How come?”

    “What do you mean ‘how come’?”

    “What made you think about Remy?”

    “I don’t know…,” Patton trailed off, fiddling with his fingers as he tried to avoid the inspecting gaze forcing him to take the center stage.

    “He reminds you of Remy, doesn’t he?” Logan remarked softly, watching as Patton’s gaze became transfixed on the table top. Unbeknownst to Patton, though, Logan’s eyes shifted slightly to see his own attending walking in their direction. 

    Without looking up into Logan’s scrutinizing eye, Patton started, “Well, kind-”

    “I don’t mean to interrupt, but--” 

    Startled by that voice a second time, Patton snapped his head up to spot Dee standing at the end of the table holding a couple of cookies wrapped in clear plastic before flittering his gaze between Logan and him.

    “I know you said you were fine, but the least I could do for jump scaring you earlier would be to buy you a cookie,” Dee set the cookies down, the plastic covers crinkling loudly. And from just a quick glimpse, Patton knew that they were his favorite type: chocolate chip. 

“That’s very kind of you Dee, but you know that you really didn’t have to, right?”

“It was no problem,” Dee beamed, oblivious to the heavy, gray atmosphere looming silently over Patton and Logan, “I wanted to.”

    “Thank you, Dee. I really appreciate it,” Patton smiled faintly up at him before reaching out a hand to grab one of cookies from their place on the center of the table. 

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Dee nodded, eyeing Logan before he turned on his heel to depart the pair, “I’ll see you in a bit, Logan.”

“Certainly, Dr. Whittaker.”

And with that, Dee sauntered away from the table and out of their personal bubble. 

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my tumblr (https://sweetmoxiety.tumblr.com/) for updates and sneak peeks on upcoming chapters.


End file.
